


The Art of Parenthood

by Beth Harker (chiana606), chiana606



Category: Little Women - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-18
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-13 18:07:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/140172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiana606/pseuds/Beth%20Harker, https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiana606/pseuds/chiana606
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bess Laurence is a beautiful but frail infant, and Amy and Laurie must face the real possibility that they might lose her before she reaches adulthood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Parenthood

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nocowardsoul](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocowardsoul/gifts).



The little studio was quiet, neat, and clean, brightened by the early morning sunlight which drifted in through white curtains, touching everything within with its soft glow. Amy Laurence sat at her work stool for the first times in weeks, her hair tied up in a blue ribbon, and her dress covered by an apron. She had set to kneading the clay as she knew she must, so as to ensure that whatever she made would not be spoiled by air pockets when she eventually went to fire it. A towel lay on one side of her desk, ready so that she might quickly clean her hands at the faintest stir from the infant Bess, who lay quiet as a ghost in her basinet in the corner of the room.

How Amy wished that the baby would stir, or even cry out with that same ear shattering scream that Amy had often heard from Jo’s little Teddy. Bess was really the most beautiful of babies, but though her skin was as flawless and white as porcelain, Amy could not but think this a sign of how fragile Bess was. She did not keep Amy up through the night with sobs and wails -- in fact, she hardly asked for anything at all from her mother, barely even conceding to eat, when all Amy wanted was to give her the world.

Amy blinked hard, and tried not to think of how very frail her child was, but of how she loved her. She was certain that Bess felt it from her in each endearment that she whispered. She thought as well of Laurie, and how he loved to carry Bess about the house in her basket, and talk about the future that he at least was sure their daughter would have. Dear man, he’d been so good and so cheerful for her sake!

The clay felt good under hands -- moist, pliant, eminently productive. It smelled faintly of fresh earth. Amy did not model in clay often, for her talent still lay more in painting and sketching. She was not sure why she had chosen this particular art form for the day, unless it was out of the desire to feel something solid beneath her fingers. As the hours passed, and a child’s face began to take form under her careful hands, she began to understand better just why she’d needed this.

So absorbed was she in her work that she did not notice when Laurie entered the room, or even when he came up behind her. It wasn’t until she felt her hand on her shoulder that she turned around to face him.

“I thought you were hard at work my lord,” she said, with the smile that she never failed to muster for his benefit.

He grinned at the use of that old nickname, in just the way that Amy liked best.

“Not half so much as you. That clay has you bewitched.”

“It’s entirely possible,” Amy said, touching the clay cheek of the molded babe who she was just realizing, to her surprise, looked touchingly similar to her own. “Do you think it’s very like her?”

“You know, when I first saw what you were doing, I meant to tease you about little Amy March and her mud pies, but now I think it’s just the thing.”

There was just a hint of sadness in his voice, something that she had noticed since she had given birth to their child, three months ago, and nearly a week before anyone had expected her to.

“How quietly she sleeps!” Amy said, trying to sound light, and feeling the strain of it. Laurie’s lips touched her temple.

“Two years from now, when she’s clamoring all over the house and getting into everything, you’ll wonder how one little body can make so much noise.”

“Perhaps…” Amy said slowly. She watched as Laurie drifted over to the basinet, to look at the sleeping infant. He wasn’t a boy any longer, she realized. She’d known this when she married him, of course she had, but it became more apparent every day. His wildness had been replaced with a gravity which impressed her more than she could put into words. She knew, looking at him as he looked at Bess, that whatever burdens she had he shared with her, and so resolved to try and make his burdens lighter, if only for a few hours.

“I’m looking forward to her first Christmas, most of all,” Amy said, pleased that her voice did not waver. “I intend to have her first pair of shoes cast in silver after she’s outgrown them, and we can hang those on the tree amongst the stars and angels. We can have all of her cousins over for cider and caroling, and I imagine the boys at Plumfield will come as well. Jo and Meg will have their Christmas theatricals as they do every year, and baby can watch it all with big bright eyes.”

“There you go, painting lovely scenes without even a brush to help you,” said Laurie. Amy flushed, returning to her work, even as she listened to him. “For my part, I mean to start her music lessons as soon as she manages a good crawl, and anticipate it eagerly.”

“It’s a wonder you’re putting it off that long. What will you ever do if she doesn’t excel at it?”

“Who ever said anything about excelling? The most important thing is that she loves it. ‘he who sings, scare’s away his woes’, as a wise man once said.”

“I agree,” Amy replied. “I hope we can let her try her hand at many accomplishments, and practical work as well if she’s strong enough for it. Once she finds what makes her happy, she can develop her talent from there, and then… Oh, who knows? It’s easy, from here, to wish for her to compose a great opera, or paint pictures for the museum, but if only she can grow into a happy, honest woman, I shall know that the two of us have done our life’s best work.”

This was all spoken with a quiet conviction which made Amy feel both warm and afraid at the same time.

“She will,” Laurie said, taking her hand. “We won’t allow anything else.”

Amy looked over at the basinet, eyes misting, though she sternly told herself that she must remain brave.

“It’s time for lunch, I think,” Laurie said, his voice gentle with understanding. He reached for Amy’s towel, and covered Amy’s hands in it himself. Amy thought of how he’d tied her bonnet for her on that day they’d met in Nice, after hearing about Beth‘s passing. She did not want to cry just now, and he did not push her to, but stayed beside her as solidly as he always had.

 

*.*.*.*.*

Sometimes it was easier to be honest at night. Laurie was by not a light sleeper, but he opened his eyes at the feel of Amy sitting up beside him. Something wasn‘t right, though it took his drowsy mind several minutes and much eye rubbing to put this thought into words.

“What is it?” He asked, his voice muffled somewhat by the pillows he was still lying against.

“Nothing. You can go back to sleep, if you want,” Amy said tightly, and that was reason enough to worry. At once, Laurie felt wide awake, and he sat up, taking Amy’s face in his hands, so as to get a better look at it as his eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The truth was that he loved to look at her at night, because something about her simple white nightgown, and the way she let her golden hair fall free reminded him most keenly that this was a woman he had known for almost all of her life, and one that he loved dearly. This night, however, her brow was creased with worry, and she bit her lip rather than smiling at him.

“The baby…?” Laurie started, his heart suddenly in his throat.

“No,” Amy said quickly, then thought better of it. “I mean, yes. Yes, Laurie, it is about her, but she’s fine, at least as much as she ever is.”

Laurie trailed his hand down Amy’s cool cheek, letting it brush against he neck before he let go.

“You don’t sound as if you are. Then mother is the one I have to look after, isn’t it so?”

“Perhaps,” Amy said. She rested her forehead against his shoulder in a confiding way which went straight to his heart. “I dreamt I’d given birth to a doll,” she whispered against him in the warm silence. “And I couldn’t sleep, or do anything but listen to her breath, to make sure that she’s still…”

She broke off there, and Laurie wrapped his arms tightly around her, kissing the top of her head as he did so. It was strange to hear Amy speak in this way, for she was the most practical of women, and tended to look at things quite literally -- even her paintings were images taken from life, and very rarely displayed symbolism of any sort. Laurie could understand her though, and found himself wondering if he had helped her enough in this trial that they faced.

He was silent for a time, listening for the same thing that he knew Amy was listening for -- the soft breaths of their child. He caught the sound soon enough, and sighed. They were even and quiet as ever, and he could feel Amy’s heartbeat through her nightgown, and he hoped more than anything else that all of them might always be peaceful and together.

“What shall we do, if she does die?” Amy asked. She was quiet, but having composed herself and gathered her strength about her, there was no tremor in her voice as she spoke.

“I suppose,” Laurie said, slowly, as they had not yet spoken openly about this possibility, “that we will have to carry on, whatever happens. We won’t lose her, any more than we’ve lost Beth, for we won’t forget.”

He swallowed hard, finding these things more difficult to say than he wanted them to be. Amy took his hand, and squeezed it tightly.

“Then it will always be the three of us, and we’ll love each other as a family must?” Amy asked.

Laurie nodded, glad that she’d said it, for it loosened his throat, and allowed him to go on. “She’s frail. It can’t go without saying. We’ve both known it for some time. I don’t believe she’s unhappy or uncomfortable, though, and we give her everything such a little person could want.”

Bess chose that moment to cry out, not very loudly, because she was just coming out of sleep herself.

“Oh,” Amy said, pulling away. Laurie caught the worry that flickered across her face, and then the small smile as she said, “I hope it’s that she’s hungry. She may keep me up every night of the year, if only that’s the reason.”

*.*.*.*.*

Days passed, some bright and sunny for the little family, and some filled with concern. On one morning Laurie insisted that he had seen Bess smile for the first time, and spent several hours making faces at her hoping that she would repeat the process for her mother who could not help but laugh, though the baby showed by falling asleep that her tastes were far too sophisticated for such silliness. On another, Bess sneezed not once, but three times consecutively, sending poor Amy into a frenzy of worry.

Amy devoted some hours each day to her clay figure, lovingly crafting the beautiful face, tiny fingers, and dimpled legs that she knew by heart. Laurie swore up and down that it was her best work ever, and she believed him, knowing that even if she managed one day to create a work of true artistic genius, she would never again make something of such personal importance. He watched her sometimes as she sculpted, his gaze dark and thoughtful. In this way, Amy felt that he too became a part of the work.

After a week the sculpture was almost finished, and she considered recasting it in marble, for that was something hard and enduring. She had no time on that day, however, as Jo was hosting a picnic at Plumfield that day, and she and Laurie had promised to attend.

“I hope that those boys of Jo’s don’t do anything to harm her,” said Amy, as Laurie lifted Bess in his basket, and began to lead them both to the carriage.

“Don’t worry, I’ll watch her like a hawk,” Laurie assured her. “And you can enjoy the society of your mother and sisters. I know they’ve missed you.”

“I’m very much looking forward to seeing them. The weather is perfect today, as well. We needn’t worry about Bess catching a chill, and I’m sure the sun will do all of us good.”

What a merry day it was! Once together the three sisters found no end of things to talk about, and Marmee watched the three of them every bit as benevolently as the saint that each daughter considered her to be.

It turned out that Amy needn’t have worried about the boy’s that Jo watched over handling Bess roughly, for little boys are more perceptive than most people give them credit for. For all that Jo liked to tell the story of how, when little Teddy was barely a year old, Tommy Bangs and his cohorts abducted him and carried him along on the most dangerous of tree climbing expeditions, the children did not try anything of the sort with Bess. Instead, they leaned over to look at her most reverently, seeming by instinct to know that they must not touch her, and leaving her in peace except for one lad who showed up with a bouquet of flowers for the pretty baby.

Amy and Laurie stayed some hours after the other guests had left, and Jo had become entangled in a game that the boys wished for her to play. Jo gave them as much freedom to wander the grounds of Plumfield as if they owned it themselves, and Laurie had proposed that a quick turn about the orchard might do them both good.

“Dear Jo,” Amy said. “I’m not sure how she keeps this place from running into complete disrepair.”

“Accident, and sheer luck, knowing her, but she does a good job of it at any rate.”

“I still remember how you used to come here to see me every afternoon, when Beth was ill. Aunt March complained so of that boy who had the nerve to come tramping over her lawn, only to rejoice a few years later when that boy had the nerve to come marry me in France.”

She was holding Bess tucked in her arms as they walked, and Laurie carried the empty basket. He had fallen behind her, and Amy glanced back at him, to see what it was.

“I think being outdoors agrees with her. She looks positively rosy, don’t you think?”

He was looking, Amy realized, at Bess’s face as it rested upon her shoulder, and she shifted the baby in her arms, so that she might look herself.

“I think you’re right,” said Amy with a smile, as she dared to hope.


End file.
